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Top Ten Russian Novels!

L.U.S.K. is excited to feature a guest post from Aisha O'Connor, writer, editor, parent, and blogger at Hell's Domestic Backside. Enjoy this list of Aisha's ten favorite Russian novels:

1. Anna Karenina (Lev Tolstoy, 1873 to 1877). Anna is rich and bored. Anna hates the way her husband chews his food. Count Vronsky—played by Christopher Reeve, so handsome) sweeps Anna off her feet! But things do not end well for Anna.

2. The Brothers Karamazov (Fyodor Dostoevsky, 1880). Not about a traveling circus acrobatic troupe. Its sweeping explorations of God, free agency, and morality are timeless and haunting. My favorite part is Ivan’s reciting of the poem “The Grand Inquisitor” in which Christ is resurrected during the Spanish Inquisition.

3. Crime and Punishment (Dostoevsky, 1866). Life-long graduate student Rodion Raskolnikov tries to justify an unspeakably immoral act with eugenics and hey—a guy needs to eat.

4. Rudin (Ivan Turgenev, 1856). Dmitry Rudin talks the talk, but boy does he not walk the walk. Or is it talks the walk? Either way, he fails to get laid.

5. The Life and Extraordinary Adventures of Private Ivan Chonkin (Vladimir Voinovich, 1969). A peasant drafted into the Red Army is forgotten by his unit in a remote village (every Russian village is remote, natch) because he’s just not that memorable. The fellow takes care of a garden instead. Slapstick hilarity ensues.

6. One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, 1962). Life in a Soviet prison labor camp is not as fun as you think it is.

7. Moscow 2042 (Vladimir Voinovich, 1986). A utopian-dystopian future in which Moscow becomes the communist epicenter of Russia. Like Margaret Atwood (The Handmaid’s Tale), Voinovich has called his novel “prophetic.”

8. Hope Against Hope: A Memoir (Nadezhda Mandelstam, 1970). Not a novel, but personal memoir forms the backbone of modern Russian lit, in my opinion. The wife of exiled poet Osip Mandelstam details the unthinkable hardships she endured during the Stalinist era.

9. Fathers and Sons (Ivan Turgenev, 1862). Like A River Runs Through It, but without the boring fly fishing, Brad Pitt, and Robert Redford’s droning voiceover. All the cool kids are embracing nihilism, but Pavel Kirsanov is having none of it.

10. War and Peace (Lev Tolstoy, 1869). Has anyone actually finished this book? I have not. Napoleon invades Russia. Beyond that, I have no more to say. 

Be sure to check out Aisha's blog and enjoy our earlier list of favorite Russian literature from Daniel Kalder.

Daniel Kalder's 10 favorites of Russian fiction

Partly inspired by his recent piece on Vasily Grossman's Life and Fate, partly in honor of the recent chill in Russian-American foreign relations, partly so I could recommend his intriguing post-Soviet travel narratives Strange Telescopes and Lost Cosmonaut, partly because F.D. Reeve's passing is still floating around the psychic swamps, and partly just for the hell of it, I recently asked travel writer and anti-tourist Daniel Kalder to supply me with a list of his top-five Russian novels from both the 19th and 20th centuries, and he thoughtfully included a story collection as well as a 21st-century text (I, too, am one of those people who "loves Gogol" but has never read Dead Souls, and I probably would have included Babel, Chekhov, and Shalamov even if asked for novels).

Here is what Kalder sent to L.U.S.K.:

In no particular order and with no claim to finality, these are the books that came into my head the day I was asked. They’re all good, but I can’t say I would pick exactly the same ones if I were asked on a different day after a better night’s sleep:

19th Century

1) The Devils (or The Possessed), Feodor Dostoevsky.

I could probably fill an entire 19th century list with books by Dostoevsky, but I shall attempt to branch out. This novel is an exceptional study of terror and political extremism in 19th century Russia, and Dostoevsky’s insights into human evil and perversion are as apposite today as they ever were. Also: it’s funny.

2) Petersburg Stories, Nikolai Gogol

Not exactly a novel, but some of these stories are quite long at least. Divine lunacy, fantastical grotesques, plus a bit of satire, all written by a man who- legend has it- was buried alive. I’ve read his novel Dead Souls, but it was years ago and in a horrible translation… I’ll revisit it one day.

3) Notes from Underground, Feodor Dostoevsky

Actually let’s do Dostoevsky again. A slim novella featuring a very nasty protagonist, celebrated for its penetrating exploration of man’s irrational and self-destructive impulses. If more politicians, journalists and think-tank parasites read this, then they would understand the human species better and our public discourse would be much less asinine.

4) Anna Karenina, Lev Tolstoy

I recognize Tolstoy’s greatness--who doesn’t? But I’m definitely more of a Russian grotesque- fantastical kind of reader. At the same time, this book constantly astounds with its perpetual stream of psychological insights, and for that I can forgive the now very dated waffly bits about agriculture, serfdom, etc.

5) Oblomov, Ivan Goncharov

The Russian 19th century canon is pretty much established and although Oblomov is certainly not better than War and Peace I mention it here because of its uniqueness, specifically in regard to the author’s 50-odd page description of the stupendously lazy hero’s epic struggle to move from his bed to a chair. After that you can stop reading--it’s downhill all the way.

20th Century

1) Soul, Andrei Platonov

Soul tells the tale of a man who returns to his tribe in the wastelands of Soviet Turkmenistan after receiving an education in Moscow. He wants to lead them to happiness and the bright communist future. Unspeakable suffering ensues as the tribe wanders in the desert starving and dying. Remarkably, Platonov was a believing communist- or at least he tried to be one.

2) Life and Fate, Vasily Grossman

Epic doorstopper about Stalingrad, written by a Soviet war correspondent who was present at and who was also among the first to write about Hitler’s mass executions of Jews in Europe. Highly critical of Stalin, the Soviet state confiscated it and Grossman never saw it published in his lifetime. It also has interesting reflections on science--Grossman was a trained scientist. More authors should know about science. It’s important, after all.

3) Cancer Ward, Aleksandr Solzhenitysn

Solzhenitsyn is pretty unfashionable these days, but I found this book very affecting when I read it some years ago, and it was still powerful when I read it again a few years after that. Solzhenitsyn’s reputation as anti-Sovet warhorse no doubt leads a lot of people to expect didactic political hectoring in his novels, but in Cancer Ward he views the regime through the eyes of its foes, supporters and fellow travelers alike, and it is a gripping, human story about illness besides.

4) The Letter Killer’s Club, Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky

Few people have heard of Krzhizhanovsky, not least because he only ever published one story in his life or something ridiculous like that. This is the strange tale of a society of storytellers who vow not to write down their bizarre narratives but only relate them to each other orally at the meetings of a secret society in Moscow. It’s strange, philosophical and very good.

5) The Ice Trilogy, Vladimir Sorokin

Post-Soviet literature took a decade or so to really get in gear, and this book is the work of a once underground author who started his career in the 80s, but became very famous in the 21^st century. I am cheating here as The Ice Trilogy was written this century, but I feel it is my duty to mention it as it’s a unique and deranged concoction mixing 20th century history, SF tropes and apocalyptic theology in a blend that may or may not make sense, and I’m not persuaded that it ultimately matters either way.       

(Back to L.U.S.K.) 

At a glance, I've read his first three from the nineteenth century, and they'd all get strong consideration for my own list, and then I've always wanted to read his next two (and I've hardly read any Tolstoy at all, I must confess), and although I've even taken a college course in 20th Century Soviet Literature, I've only read one of his listed authors (you guessed it, Solzhenitsyn) and none of the specific books. Kalder's published books, Lost Cosmonaut: Observations of an Anti-Tourist and Strange Telescopes: Following the Apocalypse from Moscow to Siberia take us through post-Soviet Russia, and some of the absurdity he chances upon, from Siberian traffic-cop Messiahs to architecture that could pass for a sci-fi film set, would ring quite true to fans of Gogol and many other Russian writers. 

"What," you scream at your screen, "No Olesha or Biely?"

Well, you're welcome to submit some favorites of your own. 

kalder, lipsyte, pocket wockets, and misprints

I finished Daniel Kalder's Strange Telescopes and heartily recommend; I intend to write an assessment of that and Lost Cosmonaut at some point. But for now, I jumped right back into Sam Lipsyte, so to speak, and am now fifty pages into The Subject Steve, his first published novel. I doubt Cyrus Duffleman would have time to indulge in Kalder's longer books, but he might enjoy his recent cynicism on the joys of social-media marketing for writers. And I doubt Sam Lipsyte would mind reading it at all (but this doesn't imply I found Lipsyte's e-mail on the Columbia U. MFA website and spammed him with Kalder's essay, my own malaise, or any other set of steak knives.)

Meanwhile, over Thanksgiving break, I picked up three Dr. Seuss books for the price of two at a Walden Books in Charleston, and although I mistakenly grabbed a misprinted copy of There's a Wocket in My Pocket, we are still enjoying it a great deal at home. The Foot Book is also of interesting although not as amazingly compelling as the Wocket book. 

Well, say hello to the Zamp in your Lamp; I intend to get the Zower in the Shower on an exercise regimen soon.

daniel kalder's lost cosmonaut

I finished Daniel Kalder's Lost Cosmonaut last the week, and it's one I don't regret spending a few weeks with. His search for nothingness left an impression of something as well as memories of Mig Mag burgers, strange dictators, and an excursion to Chess City. And he did manage to get one of my favorite half Hebs--Kasparov the Chess Grand Master--into his discussion although not in a perfectly positive way (basically, Kasparov protested a chess fed. move until money shut him up).

In a different way, his desolate landscapes remind me of some of the contemporary strand of Aleksandar Hemon's The Lazarus Project although Hemon's protagonist (his Hemon, so to speak)  is decidedly to the North and West of Kalder's more extreme world. Hemon shows us Muslims in the Balkans, but Kalder gives us even more obscure and forgotten Europeans in areas that are much closer to South or perhaps South Central Asia.

While reading Kalder, I also thought of Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow, which offers significant satire of the Soviet attempt to destroy native languages and customs in the same region while exporting Russian language and life ways. Kalder revisits this aspect of Bolshevism in greater clarity, and we get a strong sense of his moral objection to all kinds of imperialism--European, Soviet, and so on. And at the same time, he indicates that he believes in war's inevitability, a sad view perhaps but one difficult to oppose with evidence.

As I understand it, after ten years or so in Russia, the Scotland native Kalder now resides in Texas. His sensibility and willingness to travel to more obscure and even dangerous regions would seem to make him a perfect fit for a trip to the border regions of U.S. and Mexico. But I don't know his current pursuits or what he has planned.

two cents on three dollars of Hollywood comedy

For the sake of full disclosure–it seems critical that you and Chris Bosh’s 2-week unreality camera crew have public access to my life although it bears no relevance to his impending border crossing pour le saison chaud de menage a trois in sunny Florida:

For the first time in months we rented movies, and I chose from our local shiny, red 1-dollar DVD drop box, the anti-tourist Daniel Kalder’s fav It’s Complicated along with a second choice, Youth In Revolt (being out of the film loop and choosing only by the cover displays no less!).

Yes, DK’s points (see his kind words at http://whenfallsthecoliseum.com/2009/10/28/trailer-review-meryl-streep-and-alec-baldwin-star-in-its-complicated/) are well taken (as well as commenter Sophie’s and I do pity the crew, yes I do, who had to stand around beautiful Santa Barbara and point equipment at Alec Baldwin), and yet long removed from this world of Hollywood comedy, we watched It’s C. first and laughed a lot! It was kind of like cathartic, just what the doctor ordered laughter.

But then again, we don’t have TV, stereo, or much else in a very quiet small town in the summer. There was one early scene where I feared the worst, the 50ish women gathering to nibble and discuss their lives and dismal prospects for love (I very much prefer my own 40ish clandestine nibbling here, alone with pretzels or ice cream or my own questionable choices in literature or chances for all kinds of things).

Youth in Revolt was more intriguing I suppose, and I’ve always been a sucker for pseudo-Indy teen-angst films, and then the topper is a week later, at this point positively addicted to the cinema of Hollywood comedy, I chose Four Christmases.

Four Christmases was okay--no doubt better than what 4 Kwanzas or 4 Channukahs would have been and I can't remember if I saw Four Weddings and a Funeral or not--but I did begin to get a bit burnt out on Hollywood comedies.


If there is a shared message of all three films, it seems to be that love is still possible in an age of plentiful and easy-access divorce and that divorce can be a funny topic too, not some taboo, "oh, that’s so awful, what those poor children or poor mother had to go through," etc. And also, that parents can be superfreaky, strange, and scary people (alas, another comedy we fall into, parenting). Then, I realized that perhaps my favorite comedy, The Daytrippers, has the same themes. And most of Woody Allen as well. And all of situation-comedy TV? I suppose.

Will I succumb once more to the DVD drop box and rent that Demi Moore–Parker Posey interlude with “Tears” in the title? Wouldn’t Chris Bosh’s camera crew like to know? No? Oh. Well, I suppose renting from the drop box is less exhausting than winning the NBA title.

And on a related note, please Phil Jackson (or Doc Rivers or Doug Collins or any other basketball coach who helps Oprah and amazon and borders sell books), when assigning literature to next season's team, consider selecting the film novelization of Fight for Your Long Day. Originally written for screen--as a Philip Seymour Hoffman "plot mule" and product-placement bonanza--this novel of urban angst and travail would make fine reading for any of the national basketball association's high school graduates.

TGIF, keep fighting the good fight, and keep Fight[-ing] for Your Long Day.

Peace.

(And yes, I almost wrote the whole thing without writing the word Lebron.)

michael moore, a love story

In "the unbearable sadness of michael moore" at http://whenfallsthecoliseum.com/2009/09/24/the-unbearable-sadness-of-michael-moore/ Daniel Kalder raises the usual objections to Michael Moore--his movies are simplistic and one-sided and Moore profits handsomely from them (he profits from the very system he objects to, etc.)--but Kalder does use the apt phrase of "political erotica," and I can imagine Kalder debating at home whether or not to call the writing "erotica" or "pornography," perhaps with a shot of booze and a copy of Margaret Atwood's "On Pornography" nearby. I don't think anyone can dispute that Moore's films do steer the viewer in a definite direction, and like Fox News, they certainly do have an agenda.

Of course, Kalder is right that Moore is not so "complex," but I don't believe Michael Moore has ever told us he was a philosopher, nevermind one advancing us beyond an original thinker such as Karl Marx. Is "complexity" something we ever expect from mainstream film? The Weather Underground and Street Fight are two political documentaries that I feel offer more complexity than Michael Moore films, but to the best of my knowledge, neither of these sold a tremendous number of tickets. To me, a Moore film is like going to a horror film or a blockbuster. We know to an extent what we are getting into before we arrive at the theater. Complete objectivity is not what we seek or expect to find once we are seated in his theater.


Speaking of Moore's nemesis Fox News, when visiting "fair and balanced" Murdochville (not to be confused with anyone else's villes), we find these musings on Moore's new film from former Presidential candidate Tom Tacredo: "But this is Michael Moore. This is what he believes in. It's not only Michael Moore, of course. It's the president of the United States. I believe he looks at it exactly the same way. That's the scary part." It seems impossible that anti-capitalist, left-wing Michael Moore could be confused with the new (and improved?) moderate moderate President Obama, but Tacredo does this no doubt so he has a chance to pick up another appearance fee or run for office or because he is not able to see the difference between an advocate for socialized medicine and a President who is embracing private insurers as a big part of the solution to healthcare.


Tacredo later shows off his literacy, giving a full-sentence quotation from no other critic of capitalism than Karl Marx: "Hey, Michael, Michael, look at — look at me. To each according to his needs, from each according to their abilities./
Buddy, you have got more money. I need some of it, OK? We had a rough winter here."


To his credit, Tancredo acknowledges that Moore has more ability and that Moore does give money to charity but insists Moore should give it all away, as if this would be the only genuine way of living an anti-capitalist life. In other words, anyone of us who is not Mother Theresa has no right to criticize any aspect of our economic system? With some urgency, Tancredo asks for Moore's money again:


"That is exactly right. It's to each according to his needs./ And, believe me, there are a lot more people in this country who need it more than he does. I am one. Send me a check."


To me, on live television, Tacredo is obviously being sarcastic, and yet by repeating the line twice, he has me convinced that he does have financial problems! Maybe USK should write him a check? Or contact his press secretary to see if we can counsel him on life choices and not using his house as an ATM?


On the other hand, is it possible that this is how people get money in real life? They ask for it? On live television? I don't have any TV deals yet, but I'm thinking I could use this blog as a platform.


Hi, I'm Alex Kudera of the United States of Tacredo, and I have an opinion on Michael Moore, and I would like it if you send me a check! That's right Michael or you other yous, send cash now to Alex Tacredo, a former candidate for President who was almost as successful as Dennis Kucinich and Ron Paul at getting his face on TV during the live debates.


In real film, as you know from his movie Sicko, Michael Moore was the once hidden benefactor who paid the hefty health bills of one of his chief critics.

Here is the link to Tacredo on Moore:
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,547680,00.html

I am concerned for Tacredo, the poor folks of Michael Moore films, and anyone reading this who is also wondering how they will ever have enough money to afford healthcare or anything else. The latest news from the AP wire is that more 62 year olds took their social security early (with a penalty) because they were out of options. There was no work to be found, and they needed a monthly check. I believe that when one contrasts the number of years these people worked to the amount penalized by accepting an early social security, it can be shown that this penalty is a severe one. I don't believe older workers taking "retirement" five years early are to blame for the current financial crisis. Rather, they are its victims.